


They Don't Tell You About the Hard Things

by RiverRunningFree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Reader Friendship, Dean Winchester supports Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Just angst, No Smut, Prostitute Dean Winchester, Prostitute Reader, Prostitution, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader helps Dean, Sam Winchester (mentioned) - Freeform, Stanford Era (Supernatural), fluff ending, kind of, reader is bitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:38:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverRunningFree/pseuds/RiverRunningFree
Summary: Reader is a prostitute who has a brief encounter with a green-eyed young man while both are working on the street, and she gets just a glimmer of what's underneath his mask.OR What Dean really did to help support Sam while in Stanford.(It's rated M, but it's more for just the topic, than anything graphic.)





	They Don't Tell You About the Hard Things

God, you hated this place.

This grimy little strip of cracked, concrete sidewalk. The weeds growing through the pavement seemed to be the only living things in this god-forsaken part of town. Even the garbage-digging racoons were giving off an aroma of impending death and decay.

You wrinkled your nose as the wind shifted and the wafting smell of decomposing pasta leftovers and unwashed meth-heads came drifting over from the alleyway a couple dozen feet down the street.

What a lovely city Chicago was.

You kicked at some junkie’s abandoned heroine needle at your feet and let out a puff of breath, the freezing temperatures visually showing you that, yes, you were indeed still alive. Somehow…. Unfortunately.

It was a typical Tuesday night.

Well, typical for you.

Business was slow. The streets were abandoned except for a couple gang members making a drug exchange up the road, huddled conspicuously. There was a young touristy couple, clearly lost, who were speed-walking as quickly through the area as possible, clutching their purse and wallets tight.

The only other action was the four or five sleazy bars that doted the shady street.

And that’s why you were here.

A lot of times, you could pick up patrons leaving the bars. Too plastered to be making wise decisions, and pockets full of money that didn’t manage to make it to the bartender’s grasp. A portion of your earnings would come from the locals who were familiar about this solicitation corner and would drive by and pick one of you up like crap fast food at a Wendy’s.

Classy.

You glanced over at the five or six other “colleagues” who were pulling thin jackets close and shuffling against the biting wind. The Huddle of Shame. That’s certainly what it felt like. Bunch of low-life rejects, the lot of you.

An hour later and things started to pick up a little. A couple of the other workers came and went and came back again. Ten minutes ago, you’d sucked off a middle-aged dad with a beer belly and way too much hair down south to be normal. But you had an extra thirty dollars in your possession, so that was something.

Whenever you started doubting your motives or choices in life, you’d rub your toes against the bulge of cash you stowed afterward in your shoe. A reminder. There was a reason you were here. Every one of the workers had a reason.

………………..

Around eleven o’clock you noticed a young man you didn’t recognize, come stand near your group. At first you’d though he was a customer, he looked almost too clean to be one of you. But his eyes were trained on the open street and on the people exiting and entering the bars, barely acknowledging you except for a small smile and nod of the head.

Huh.

You gave him a discreet once-over, momentarily distracted from your scouting. He looked early twenties, tall, with a slightly too-lean build, but the promise of broad shoulders in a few years.

His face looked bruised, and his knuckles scabbed over. He was wearing only a t-shirt and flannel as though he had purposely refused to bring his jacket with him. You wondered if it was because of a personal attachment. You knew a couple people who had only their mom’s shoes or their brother’s scarf and had gone without the items altogether while working, so that their family member’s memory wouldn’t be sullied by what they were about to do.

He seemed nice.

Not sketchy or slimy like some of the other people working the street that you knew. Genuinely nice. You didn’t know what it was about him that struck you like that but…

What the hell.

You were bored.

It was a Tuesday.

“Hey.”

The young man turned to look at you, bright green eyes flashing slight surprise. His lips curved into a tired smile and he dug his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders slightly. “Hi.”

You offered a small grin in return at his awkwardness, but felt a shiver rack your body as another gust of wind swept over you. The air biting into your sore throat. A nasty cough making its hourly appearance.

“Damn, it really is cold here. Do you want my flannel?”

You glance up to see Green Eyes quickly removing his long-sleeve flannel to give to you. The cold instantly turned his bare arms red and goosebumps rose on his skin.

“Oh! No! No no no. I’m okay. Th-thank you. But I already got more layers than you do dude, you need what you got.” He hesitated a moment before nodding and pulling the piece of clothing back on.

“Our lives are fucked up. Aren’t they?” You asked abruptly.

The boy tilted his chin slightly, blinking his eyes slowly. The poor guy looked like he hadn’t slept in days, the dark circles under his eyes were like purple stains contrasting against the translucence of his skin.

“Why do you say that?”

A laugh choked in your throat at the serious look of confusion on his face. “I…um… how can you _not_ say that? Look where we are, pretty boy. Look what we’re _doing_.”

He shrugged.

“I try not to think about it.” He wrapped his arms around himself and let his head fall back, eyes searching the stars. “I think about my little brother. He’s in college.” The pride was filling his words with notes of long-lost joy and hope. “He’s going to be a lawyer someday. With their fancy suits and heavy law books. The Brainiac will fit right in…” He seemed to catch himself at the flood of information that threatened to spill from his lips, as though he was so desperate to just tell someone something of substance about his life and what really mattered in it.

You swallowed thickly, your bad mood giving way to longing and deeper thoughts. “I have two little sisters. The younger one won a children’s art contest last week. I have high hopes for a future Van Gogh in the family.” You cracked a grin and ducked your head at the thought.

“Little siblings. Am I right? Wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

“Isn’t that the truth. I’d do anything for them.” You sighed and shoved your hands into your pockets. “Even suck off a stranger so they can have school uniforms…”

“Or get fucked in the ass so they’ll discover they’ve got an extra ‘scholarship’ by ‘accident’ again...” The young man murmured under his breath, exhaling his exhaustion in a puff of frosted air.

“Mmmm. Do you ever wish it was different? Your life?”

“Everyday.”

The weight of the single word seemed to seep into your bones for a moment.

You licked you lips unconsciously. The taste of dried semen and sweat from your earlier client made itself known to your senses. You were pretty sure there was still a little bit of crusted cum that had dripped down from your mouth. Hard-assed bastard hadn't worn a condom. You just had to pray he hadn't been dripping STDs into your mouth. God... what you wouldn't give to never have another strange trucker's cum in you ever again... so hell yeah... you wished your life was different.

You both were startled from your thoughts as you caught sight of a john walking your way, a slight swagger in his step portraying his inebriated state. He stumbled over a sleeping homeless man, stretched out on his cardboard bed, and continued in your direction. “Any bets on which of us he’ll go for?” You whispered near Green Eyes' ear, a playful lilt falling into your voice.

His lips twitched, “I don’t like my chances, I’m voting for you.”

“Oh, come on. Now you got to be all humble and stuff in addition to that self-sacrificing?? Ugh, fine. I think he’ll pick you.”

His green eyes twinkled with humor. “Well. Aren’t you kind.”

The john swayed closer to you two, the smell of stale beer drifting out of his pores, threatening to gag the both of you. The man walked right past you both, completely ignoring the two of you entirely, and approached a lady in a leopard print coat a few feet away.

You and Green Eyes silently watched as he led the lady over to his car and drove off, then simultaneously busted out into hard laughter. Your laughing didn’t stop as the ridiculousness of the situation settled in. The relief at not getting picked and not having to lose another piece of your soul just then, mixed with disappointment at losing an opportunity to make money.

As the laughter died down, you glanced over to see tears spring to the boy’s eyes unbiddenly. His laughing became slightly choked and you could almost visibly see the pain he was feeling. You could tell that he had done prostitution before, that wasn’t the problem. The way he held himself and showed off his good side to passing, possible customers was definite proof of his many years of experience in this area. But you knew yourself that that didn’t make it any easier.

He took a moment to gather himself, growing very quiet as you patiently stood next to him. Finally, a few minutes later, his hoarse voice drifted quietly to your ear.

“I’m so tired…”

Three little words. With just three little words you felt as though the young man had told you his life story.

You didn’t know where he was born. You didn’t know where he grew up. Or when he had his first kiss. Or his first crush.

You didn’t know if his father was an alcoholic. Or if his mother was even still alive. You didn’t know if he was homeless or lived in town. You didn’t know if he had ever been abused. Ever been rejected by his family. Ever felt unloved.

You didn’t even know his name.

But in those three words you knew everything that mattered.

You could hear the exhaustion, dripping off the words. The slight slur that comes only from severe lack of sleep. The small pitch in the last word, betraying his voice, showing you just how close he was to breaking. The despair that drenched over the phrase in a way of acceptance that nothing will ever get better in his life. And the lack of emotion that only can be expressed by someone who has been abandoned by the ones he loves.

Those three words were a confession not meant for mortal ears.

And you felt your heart break.

Looking back, you were never quite sure what came over you in those next moments. Why you suddenly felt the need to tell this almost complete stranger things that were so... personal. And a bit sappy... if you were being honest. But you did. And in all truthfulness... afterward, you didn't regret a word.

“You know… I’ve always had a love for superheroes.”

He looked over at you strangely, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes, embarrassed. “Wh-What?”

“My favorite… was Batman. And I know that’s super cliché, or whatever. But he has a special place in my heart. Because, even though he’s super rich and has all these gadgets… that’s not what makes him who he is. He was someone who took the pain of his past and used it to drive himself forward and try to make a difference in other people’s lives and save people. He didn’t let his traumas consume him.” You looked over at the boy and quirked up a soft smile.

“Of all the people I’ve met… I think _you_ would be the one to become Batman. You would be the one who never got defeated by life, no matter how many times it knocked you off your feet. You’ll get back up every time. And you’ll make a difference.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing multiple times before a cracked and pitched, “Thank You.” Escaped his mouth.

A few minutes later another john came up and led the young man away to his car, paying up-front for the whole night with him. You had a feeling you’d never see him after that night, and you were right.

But just as he was leaving, he quickly turned back and pulled you into a tight embrace, whispering softly in your ear, almost as if he was making a promise to himself:

“I’m Batman.”

”Yes, you are.”

And as you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, as though you had just inspired the world’s future hero to keep fighting.

And it felt good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like it! It got a little fluffy at the end, but I just wanted to hug Dean so bad by this point... so I did :)  
> Let me know what you thought in the comments below!


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